Packet of Wildflower Seeds

  Little red lines, Run far and free. Be a river whisking me to heaven; Let me drown in your life-giving force. Little red lines, Connect my scattered dots. Trace lines along this battered vessel; Shadow its empty hollows. Little red lines, Mingle with the air. After all, you are fed by oxygen, Though it no longer sustains me. Little red lines, Make my vision rosy. Paint the external world a vibrant hue; Leave me a sight to be seen. Little red lines, Take my breath away. Pour my soul into the earth And return me to my peaceful home. Little red lines, Be my map on this journey. Guide me to my destination; Outline my path along the way. -November 22, 2007- Sometimes I wish I had acted in 2007 instead of simply writing. Then I wouldn't be here, in the middle of this mess. I wouldn't be struggling with the pain, the isolation, the fear, and the questions surrounding a global pandemic. I wouldn't be wondering why inconvenience is a more powerful motivator than compassion for som

 I was very isolated as a new mother. My husband worked shift work. Our neighbors kept to themselves. I had few friends and family members in the area; the ones I did have lived at least forty minutes away. None of them had children of their own, so they couldn't share the difficulties of that experience with me. When I moved back to my hometown and began seeing a counselor again, one of the first suggestions she made was to find some "mom friends." She recommended joining a new moms group. As a painfully shy individual and someone who is not a fan of forced social situations, her recommendation sounded terrible. I ignored her. The years went by, and my counselor kept pressing. "Have you made any mom friends yet?" When my kids started school, I told her that I talked to other moms at drop-off and pick-up. I had some of their numbers and took the kids to playdates with their kids. "It doesn't sound like they are mom friends, though," my counselor re